


his name would make me rise

by sordes



Series: The Temple Harlot [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 22:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14602863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: So he wasn’tliterallyclutching his breast and swooning, like maidens in the tales of epic heroes always did, but from his vantage point behind the thick stone pillar, eyes trained on his prize, cheeks flushed and heart rate elevated, he might has well have been. Ardyn had no idea when this whole business began, when he becamelovesick, but the disease had taken hold and nothing—not even magic from the Gods—seemed capable of curing it.The one where Ardyn pines behind a pillar and writes some sick poetry.





	his name would make me rise

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula).

So he wasn’t _literally_ clutching his breast and swooning, like maidens in the tales of epic heroes always did, but from his vantage point behind the thick stone pillar, eyes trained on his prize, cheeks flushed and heart rate elevated, he might has well have been. Ardyn had no idea when this whole business began, when he became _lovesick_ , but the disease had taken hold and nothing—not even magic from the Gods—seemed capable of curing it.

Though the novelty of Gilgamesh’s presence in the household should have long worn off, Ardyn’s heart still picked up when they passed by one another, his eyes drawn to Gilgamesh’s striking figure and swarthy step. It was improper, really, for Ardyn to be so taken with this foreigner, and for the foreigner to smile so brazenly at him in return. Setting pretenses aside, Gilgamesh occupied a tenuous position in the house—not slave or servant, but certainly not guest, either. ‘Political prisoner’ was likely the most apt way to describe him, yet he was free to roam the grounds as he pleased (excluding leaving them, of course), and was waited on hand and foot by the house staff. He had this indomitable spirit that Ardyn had yet to see waver in his years on the estate, which now, Ardyn believed, was what continued to draw his eye and make his heart soar. Gilgamesh was easily the best thing to look at for miles around, what with his shining, Cimmerian hair, kind eyes, and hard earned muscles, but years of feasting on only even the finest foods could make an appetite weary, so to speak. Yet Gilgamesh’s very existence refused to fade into the tired and familiar for Ardyn.

He gave pause behind the pillar as to his actions, trying his utmost to appear idle and casual, should a servant stumble upon him, puzzling out just how Gilgamesh had come to possess such sway over him, to the sound of practice swords clanging against one another in the yard. It was evening, the sky painted in warm reds and inky purples, the sunset cast an almost magical glow to the training yard, the waning rays incandescing the sweaty bodies of the men who danced in pairs, their dulled blades more akin to fans or scarves, props wielded with grace and ease, than blunted instruments of death.

Ardyn wanted to slap himself.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Gilgamesh capable of witchcraft or possessing arcane knowledge used for the nefarious purpose of terrorizing him. Ardyn was a man of good standing in society, upstanding and vigilant, the eldest son of an old and powerful family. Yet a look, no matter how brief or glancing, from this foreign slab of a man would stop him dead in his tracks. The feeling that Gilgamesh instilled in his breast made Ardyn’s knees weak, his palms clammy; it made him view the entirety of his world in hazy shades of pink and red. Shiva’s tits—Gilgamesh had turned him into a blushing romantic.

Only after one last long look did Ardyn tear himself away from his position, forcing his legs to carry him from the yard. He felt as if he were going mad, heart threatening to burst from his chest, and by the Gods he would have offered it to Gilgamesh on a silver platter if it meant even the slightest reprieve from the sweet torture that pining after him was.

Lacking the courage to simply approach Gilgamesh, to make his desires known, Ardyn found that as of late there was only one outlet for his concealed passions—one that although fitting of an educated man, still made his cheeks go sanguine at the thought of discovery. He made sure to bar the latch on his bedroom door when the mood took him, and lit the space with many tallow candles. The parchment was smooth and the inky lines of his quill, too, and for hours at a time there would be nothing but the soft scratches of its tip as Ardyn worked. To think that he would be squirreling himself away, working late into the night on _love poems_. It was a secret Ardyn had long since vowed to take to his grave, and he was ever so careful to destroy evidence of his work—even the few he felt proud of—at the end of a harried session.

But like the wine he took to imbibing as he wrote, with time it took more to cast a color on his cheeks, and the effectiveness of writing the poems, of condensing the blunt and obtuse feelings into comprehensible language, to cull and control Ardyn’s longing waned. His passion ran hot on this particular night, and Ardyn easily worked his way through three cups of wine, writing like a man possessed, burning several candles to their end in the process. Swathes of parchment covered in his handwriting, growing more scrawling and illegible as the hours passed, littered the table he sat at and the floor around him as he crumpled and tossed any creation deemed too base for his heart’s true feelings.

_Your eyes are as sweet honey,_

_Dripping with affection at every object you look upon;_

_How I long for that sweet honeyed gaze to find me,_

_And drizzle ardor down upon me._

Ardyn wadded that one up with a contemptuous snort. His words were too desperate, too shallow. The root of his affections went far deeper than Gilgamesh’s exquisite good looks, so no—it wouldn’t do.

_Were but I the sash you tie round your waist,_

_So that I could ever be near;_

_Or the blanket that covers you while you sleep,_

_To keep you warm and mind the steady beating of your heart._

He took another healthy gulp from his cup, nodding. It was affectionate, pure in its sweetness—he could build off of this.

_To even be your sandal, fastened tight to your foot,_

_Would give me such delight;_

_Always with you, always beneath you,_

_Tread over me however you like._

....And ruin it. Ardyn flung the parchment over his shoulder in a whirl, his genius escaping him this night. A few deep pulls of wine later, though, he felt it return.

_There is a river between us, coursing angry with flood,_

_A bask of crocodiles lurks in the reeds;_

_But I would ford it with nary a fear nor complaint,_

_If you were waiting, arms outstretched, on the other side._

Ardyn hummed, pushing that piece to the side. It was inoffensive, perhaps even fraternal… But he felt so much more for the man than what could be misinterpreted as ‘brotherly love.’ He could do better.

It took him an additional two cups of the sweet wine for Ardyn to truly set his inhibitions aside (or more accurately, for his inebriation to completely override the logical and critical thinking centers of his brain) and his magnum opus spilled forth, his hand barely able to keep up with the thoughts tumbling free.

Not until the scorching rays of the midday sun roused Ardyn from his slumber, draped haphazardly half on his bed, half on the floor, evidence of his maniacal pursuit still cascaded around him, did sober lucidity return. Horrified and headachy, Ardyn eased himself to his feet to assess the damage from the night before, his stomach plummeting when the full extent of his madness became clear. His block of sealing wax and his own Gods-forsaken seal were haphazardly left atop the table, errant drips of hardened wax confirming its use. Not only had Ardyn drunkenly spilled his heart and soul onto parchment, he had, _what_? Signed and sealed the letter with his own _personal identifier_?! Surely he couldn’t have been that drunk, that stupid, to actually prepare a poem for presentation, but—the letter. Where was the letter? Surely he had been too inebriated to deliver it—surely?!

Frantically Ardyn tore his room apart, searching high and low for the letter, but even after tearing every drawer from its slot, rummaging through each cupboard and cabinet, he came up empty handed. Ardyn lowered himself on the edge of his bed, hands shaking. Just because the letter wasn’t _here_ didn’t mean it had found its way into Gilgamesh’s hands, or anyone’s for that matter. Ardyn nodded, trying to assure himself of that, though deep down he knew that the very fact that the letter remained unaccounted for put him at great risk. He was certain he didn’t sign his name, and at the very least that meant he could deny ownership of the words written within—whatever they were, Gods he was so drunk he couldn’t even recall a single line of the tripe. But the seal… stealing Ardyn’s personal seal to secure a love note? Explaining that away would not be so simple.

Ardyn lingered in his chambers far past what was an acceptable time, and before long a servant was knocking at his door, inquiring as to his health.

He let out a shaky laugh, bracing himself for the series of embarrassments that were sure to follow, wishing all the while that Ramuh would strike him down where he sat and save him the trouble.

\---

Ardyn supposed he really did have a good run, all things considered. He might have liked to have been a bit older before meeting his end, but what man didn’t wish for more time?

Each step Ardyn took outside of the relative safety of his chambers felt like a step towards the gallows. Features pinched into a near constant wince, Ardyn braced himself for the inevitable laughter or riled accusation. It was eventide once more before anyone approached him, just when Ardyn found it was socially acceptable to retreat back to his chambers for the night, just when he thought he was in the clear.

It might have well as been a bolt of lightning from Ramuh; Gilgamesh’s deep, richly accented voice made his heart stop dead in his chest with just one word: “Ardyn.”

He was frozen in place, paralyzed by a mixture of fear, mortal dread, and most troubling, a girlish excitement. How long had it been since Gilgamesh had addressed him by his name? Since they had last exchanged words? Ardyn couldn’t remember, his thoughts jumbling one into the next, and it required all of his faculties just to turn around and face the source of his anxiety.

Unlike the day before, Gilgamesh hadn’t been in the training yard just prior, as he was clothed in a richly embroidered tunic, his long hair combed back and tied in a low cue. Ardyn could smell him, even, though they were yet a good few paces apart—traces of jasmine and heady musk. The scent was new to Ardyn; he had written a sweet couplet musing on Gilgamesh and the scent of gardenias some weeks ago, but not jasmine. It took all of his self-control then and there not to slap himself for musing about incorporating this new information about Gilgamesh’s preferred scent into a new piece instead of staying focused on his current bind.

“Gilgamesh,” he said, barely masking the anxiety in his voice. His gaze flitted from Gilgamesh’s honey-amber eyes to his neatly trimmed beard, and his full lips amongst the black hair, curled into a small smile. “How can I—”

“I have a favor to ask,” he said, interrupting Ardyn. “It is of a… sensitive nature.”

“Ah…” Ardyn’s head spun. It could be anything, anything in the world, but the timing of it all—it reeked of treachery. Yet Gilgamesh looked at him so innocently, so patiently, it felt as if he were being knifed in the heart as the thought of denying him drifted through Ardyn’s mind. “Of course. Anything,” he replied weakly.

Gilgamesh nodded in gratitude. “But not here. You never know who could be listening…” He looked around in mock suspicion for emphasis. “Come. Follow me.”

Ardyn followed Gilgamesh past the hedges, winding round the lit braziers and warm glowing oil lamps, the gentle light painting the ivy covered trellises and flowering topiaries with a romantic hue. With the flowers in bloom, the garden was typically a fragrant place, the sweet nectar from each type of flower blending together into a perfumed haze. But on this night, only the jasmine smell from Gilgamesh’s hair reached him, and by the Astrals, he would have followed its trail into the depths of hell if it meant Gilgamesh would bless him with another smile.

Gilgamesh glanced back, a mischievous glint to his eye, ensuring Ardyn was still there, then suddenly ducked behind one of the stone pillars on the perimeter of the garden. The playfulness of it all won a shy smile from Ardyn despite all his worries, and he dipped around the other side of the pillar, a surprised little yelp escaping his lips when Gilgamesh grabbed him by the hands and reeled him in close. Ardyn’s face went red hot as Gilgamesh leaned in conspiratorially, as if he were sharing a deep secret meant only for Ardyn’s ears.

Ardyn swallowed hard, his eyes drawn up to Gilgamesh’s face, his skin where Gilgamesh’s hands held him scorching.

“Your discretion is of the utmost importance,” Gilgamesh began as he slipped his hand into a hidden pocket in his tunic. “I would hate for rumor of this to spread…”

Ardyn just blinked, unable to mask his shock as Gilgamesh produced a somewhat crinkled ( _and wine stained_ ) letter. “I found this in the hedge near my chambers this morning.” He turned the letter over, revealing the opened wax seal, and a tidal wave of relief crashed over Ardyn when he realized his identifying moniker was smeared thanks to a hand unsteadied by wine. “But the seal is smudged, and the contents… I’m not even sure if I am its intended recipient,” he said with a shrug.

“Ah, that is certainly bizarre…” Ardyn’s voice was high and shaking with relief, caught up in saying his blessings to the Six for his drunken befuddlement. “There’s no line of salutations?”

Gilgamesh turned the parchment round, and Ardyn came face to face with his torrid lines of poetry for the first time without the warm veil of drunkenness blurring the cold reality of his desperation. The color drained from his face at his atrocious penmanship, the harried, slanted way the lines carried on, but as his eyes quickly skimmed over the words, he felt at least shallow relief at the fact that he had not addressed the letter to Gilgamesh in name, and blessedly, had not signed his own name.

“As you can see… it is a cryptic thing.”

Ardyn grasped the sides of the parchment, seeing his opportunity to end this whole business here and now. “Well, why don’t I just… take this off your hands… and perhaps I can divine the intended recipient and deliver it?” Much to his chagrin, Gilgamesh retained his hold on the parchment, refusing to hand it over.  “Just─let me have the letter, and I’ll take care of everything. Is that not the favor you intended to ask of me?”

The letter slipped from Ardyn’s fingers as Gilgamesh pulled it up and back, his eyes scanning over its contents once more. “As I said, this is a sensitive matter...” He looked pensively to Ardyn, a touch embarrassed, perhaps. “This stays between us, yes?”

Dumbfounded, Ardyn blinked as he nodded. If Gilgamesh weren’t the very object of his affections he’d hire a band of assassins to do away with him, or anyone else who had knowledge of this whole mortifying encounter— _of course this would remain between them_.

Gilgamesh nodded once, resolutely and wholly trusting. “In your tongue, some of your idioms escape me, but I have little issue understanding spoken words.” He glanced back over his shoulder, as if for any unwelcome lurkers in the dark, then refocused his attentions to the letter in his broad hands. “The _written_ word, however, is an entirely different matter.”

“Are you saying… you can’t read?”

“Not a single character.”

Though a part of Ardyn’s heart stung with sympathy for Gilgamesh’s awkward admission, guiltily, the majority of it soared with euphoria. There was a way out of this after all, a way to escape entirely unscathed.

“I would hate for everyone to think of me as some uneducated savage,” Gilgamesh said, his thumbs rubbing over the parchment, “so I trust you won’t breathe word of this…”

“Of course,” Ardyn returned quickly.  “My lips are sealed.”

Gilgamesh smiled at his words, and then, and only then, did he offer the letter to Ardyn once more. “I would like for the intended recipient to receive this, but as I was the one to stumble upon it, it’s only right I see the task fulfilled. Which brings me to that favor… I would ask you to read this aloud for me.”

If not for the pillar supporting Ardyn’s side, he might have fallen, knocked out cold not by Ramuh’s lightning but by Gilgamesh’s innocuous request.

“I don’t see why that’s necessary…” Ardyn’s mouth was bone dry, his tongue thick and ungainly, and how he managed to form those words he had no idea.

“If the letter is of a _sensitive_ nature, I would hate for it to be passed between too many hands,” Gilgamesh reasoned. “Were that it only found by someone capable of reading your letters, but…” He shrugged.

Hands positively shaking now, Ardyn grasped the parchment and Gilgamesh relinquished hold. In a split second he thought of running, turning on his heel and sprinting away to dispose of the wretched thing—one of the open braziers wasn’t _too far_. But that would give everything away, wouldn’t it? No, there was no getting out of this one, Ardyn thought. He had created this mess, had been sloppy and foolish and—

Ardyn cleared his throat. “It, ah… it appears to be poetry.”

Gilgamesh hummed appreciatively, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So likely not an order for assassination. That is comforting.”

Ardyn immediately cursed himself for his honesty. Gilgamesh was ignorant to the letter’s contents—he could have spun the writing into some dry piece of correspondence about—about _anything_ , it didn’t matter. But he felt incapable of that level of scheming and calculating, being so close to Gilgamesh and holding the manifesto of his feelings on the man in his hands. Standing so closely, Ardyn felt incapable of doing anything but reading the lines exactly as they were printed on the page in his own hand, as if Gilgamesh were the sun, blanketing every inch of him in light and making duplicity impossible.

He cleared his throat once more and recited the first stanza:

_He knows well to cast a noose about my neck,_

_To bind me with fleeting words;_

_Were he just to tighten the knot,_

_I would follow him evermore._

“A love poem,” Gilgamesh hummed, but Ardyn couldn’t hear him, his heart was so loud hammering between his ears, and he barreled on down the page.

_Try as I might to shake the chains,_

_To shrug aside the shackles,_

_I cannot help but sway when I think of him,_

_My heart, it ever flutters._

Had he really used the word ‘flutter’? Ardyn’s eyes quickly skimmed over the remaining stanza and he was suddenly all the more desperate not to read it. He glanced up to Gilgamesh, his face serious with thought, hanging on each and every overwrought word. Ardyn felt light headed, but his eyes dropped back to the page, the edges now damp with sweat from his fingertips, and read on, voice reedy and weak.

_Each glance he casts in my direction_

_Sustains me more than food and drink;_

_Were death’s very clutches upon me,_

_His name would make me rise._

Limply, Ardyn’s hands fell to his sides. He felt as if all of his strength had been sapped, and even if he wanted to shred the letter and cast the remaining scraps of evidence into the flames of a nearby brazier, he simply didn’t have the energy for it.

“That’s it,” Ardyn said faintly. “That’s all it says.”

Gilgamesh hummed, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Can’t say I have any better idea who it’s intended for. You?”

Ardyn nodded ‘no.’ “Not a clue,” he lied.

“What a predicament,” Gilgamesh mused. “Perhaps I should surrender it to the steward…”

“Clearly something of this sort of, _intimate nature_ , should be kept as private as possible, wouldn’t you agree?” Ardyn fired off, his tongue regaining its usual quickness.

“Well, of course, but the poem is hardly salacious,” Gilgamesh replied, a smile returned to his lips. “I wouldn’t think it would scandalize the writer, or the recipient, for that matter.”

“But there’s no name, no address—this was clearly meant to be an anonymous declaration.”

“That clearly missed its mark, as I have no suitors. Are we not trying to rectify that?”

_If only you knew._

“Perhaps fate intervened for a reason, who are we to try and circumvent it?”

Gilgamesh reached for the letter, but Ardyn snatched it back. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter, really, but I think it best if you return the letter now.”

“No,” Ardyn sputtered, his grip on the parchment tightening.

Something in Gilgamesh’s eyes glinted down at him, sending a chill coursing through Ardyn’s spine. “Why are you so compelled to stop me?”

Ardyn didn’t have an answer he could he could say, so he just backed off, letter held behind his back like a child trying to conceal his favorite toy from a rough playmate. “Why are you so compelled to play the noble hero?”

“Don’t you feel bad for the poor soul that wrote the letter? For all their efforts to go to waste?”

_Not for an instant._

“You said you had difficulty with some of our idioms, yes? Allow me to teach you one now: let sleeping dogs lie.” Ardyn knew he was being far too suspicious. Just because Gilgamesh couldn’t read in his second language didn’t mean he was stupid. There was only so much stalling and derailing Ardyn could do before it was all but obvious—unless it _already was_.

Yet he had created an opportunity.

Gilgamesh tiled his head back slightly, as if considering Ardyn’s words carefully, puzzling out their double meaning. The distraction was just what Ardyn needed. He took one step back, quickly pivoted, and then took off, making a beeline for the nearest brazier at one of the corners of the garden. Vaguely he could hear Gilgamesh’s head footfalls behind him a moment later, giving chase, but Ardyn threw everything he had left in him into running, the desperation of a cornered animal giving him an unnatural boost to his usually unimpressive speed.

Ardyn was close enough to feel the heat of the flames as he brought the letter forward, seconds away from dropping it in the fire and being rid of the whole issue, when he was confronted with the cold reality that even desperation and a brief head start weren’t enough to escape Gilgamesh, the natural athletic one between them. Before Ardyn could cast the letter into the fire Gilgamesh grabbed his arm, prying the letter free with his other hand and spinning Ardyn around in one go. Manic desperation splashed across his features, Ardyn’s mind went utterly blank, save another idiom: you’ve made your bed, now you must lie in it.

“Ardyn…”

“I can explain—” He burst out, the floodgates unleashed and all at once the two were talking over one another, trying to get an edge in.

“This went too far—”

“I never meant—”

“I just wanted to—”

“It’s stupid—”

“I lied.”

The next half-thought died on Ardyn’s tongue and he blinked up at Gilgamesh, a few errant strands of hair falling into his face. “About?”

“I… I can read,” Gilgamesh said plainly, then almost sheepishly looked away, ashamed of the trick. “And I know who wrote the letter. And… I’m fairly sure I know who it was intended for,” he added quickly, but after looking back at Ardyn, and noting his cheeks were completely devoid of color, his hands were balled into fists so tight his knuckles were bone-white, he swallowed. “Although, there’s always the possibility I’m mistaken,” he added skittishly.

Ardyn knew he didn’t have to explain. Gilgamesh had seen through everything, and—and for what? To ridicule him? To mock him with this entire display, this entire drama that he’d orchestrated? Anger simmered in his gut, but cooled in an instant when Gilgamesh’s last words echoed in his head, when he thought of the way Gilgamesh was dressed, how fine he smelled—how what he thought was concern, even regret, shone in Gilgamesh’s eyes.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying…?” Wincing, Ardyn looked up at Gilgamesh, waiting for the blow to hit or for the rug to be tugged out from under his feet, only neither came.

Instead, Gilgamesh cleared his throat, somewhat awkward now. “Yes…?”

Ardyn crumpled forward, his forehead meeting Gilgamesh’s broad shoulder, auburn locks concealing his heat tinged cheeks. “Why did you make me do that?”

“No one ever wrote me a poem before,” he replied.

“How did you even know it was me?”

“I recognized your handwriting, despite, ah… you were clearly writing in the throes of passion, were you not? I also might have seen you try to deliver it, last night.”

Ardyn exhaled sharply from his nose. _Wonderful._ So much for starting things off on the right foot.

“I didn’t mean to offend, really,” Gilgamesh said, and Ardyn could hear the parchment crinkling in his hand. “I just wanted to have some fun… No one’s ever…”

“Tried to woo you?”

Gilgamesh’s laugh wasn’t mean-spirited in the slightest. It was bold and deep, full of life and mirth; unrestrained by the tendrils of self-consciousness that gripped Ardyn body and soul day in and day out. “Yes, actually.”

Ardyn wanted to laugh with him, but the whirlwind of emotions and turns this evening left him completely spent. He thought he should pull back, should put more distance between them, but he couldn’t seem to move, either. Ardyn felt safe, his face concealed, only the embroidery on Gilgamesh’s tunic and a few strands of his hair in his line of sight.

“Do you regret writing it?”

Ardyn shook his head ‘no’ furiously, forehead rubbing against Gilgamesh’s tunic. There was something oddly cathartic about it all, to finally just have everything out in the open.

“That’s reassuring,” he said with a laugh. “I regret the deception, but only a little, in truth.”

Finally Ardyn found the strength to pull back, returning that modicum of space between them, the brazier crackling behind him. “So the words are not unwanted?”

Gilgamesh snorted something in his mother tongue, an unwieldy syllable back in his throat. “Do you really think I’d get so dressed up if they were?”

Ardyn couldn’t help but laugh at that, incredulous. “Why? To sweep me off my feet?”

“Says the one who tried to woo me with a grand romantic gesture of poetry hand delivered to my door. It’s the least I could do.”

Ardyn straightened, squaring his shoulders, regaining a trace of his usual decorum despite everything. “Big words for someone who’s done nothing but aggravate and deceive and—”

The next thing he knew Ardyn was looking up at Gilgamesh’s face, the starry night sky above him. Gilgamesh had slipped his arms around him and dipped him; Ardyn could do little but flail in his arms and grip his chest for purchase. Gilgamesh’s lips were on his a moment later, the kiss soft and tender—exactly as one from a romantic epic would be. Ardyn’s shock gave way in seconds, his grip on Gilgamesh’s tunic loosening, trusting Gilgamesh not to drop him, and his eyes falling shut, lips pressing to Gilgamesh’s to return the gesture.

Their kiss deepened, accompanied by the sound of the crackling fire and crickets in the grass, Ardyn licking into Gilgamesh’s mouth hungrily. It all felt like it was too good to be true and he wanted more before he woke from the dream and the illusion shattered.

Ardyn felt Gilgamesh smile against him and he pressed his lips to the side of Ardyn’s mouth before pulling back, ending the kiss before it grew too heated. “Even?”

Gilgamesh righted Ardyn in one careful yet nonetheless dashing motion, even smoothed the wrinkles from his robes.

“It’s certainly a step in the right direction, but…”

Gilgamesh smile was broad and unguarded, the tension gone from his demeanor. “Well, if you keep writing me poems, I’ll have to keep with the grand gestures.” He slipped the letter back into the secret pocket and patted it for emphasis.

Ardyn hummed, light headed, and walked away from the brazier, as if each step was on a cloud. “Well, there were more lines that were cut.”

Gilgamesh quirked an eyebrow in interest, turning to follow Ardyn’s path.

“Something about—‘your kisses are brands on my skin’—‘your hands cast enchantments, leaving me spellbound.’”

Enticed, Gilgamesh followed Ardyn as he walked backwards, down the garden path they had taken before, back towards the estate where both their chambers were located.

“I was particularly fond of the noose line,” Gilgamesh grinned. “Have you ever thought about, what’s the phrase?”

Now Ardyn quirked an eyebrow, incredulous, and infectious, laughter spilling from his lips. “Art imitating life?” From the way Gilgamesh laughed, he knew he had supplied the correct answer. “And here I thought everything you said tonight was a lie. You do need practice with figurative speech.”

“Fortunately it seems I’ve now found the perfect teacher.”

Ardyn’s feet clicked on the tiles as he stepped up from the garden path and he paused, a mischievous quirk to his smile. “Such instruction won’t come cheaply, especially given this fiasco.”

Gilgamesh stepped up onto the tile without a hint of hesitation, so close that Ardyn could feel his breath on his face and the scent of jasmine filled his nose once more. “I think you’ll find that when it comes to education, my pockets are quite deep.”

He leaned in to kiss Ardyn once more, but determined not to be the weak-kneed maiden, Ardyn hopped back at the last moment. “You’ll have to do much more than that to make it up to me.”

Playfully, Gilgamesh threw his hands up, as if to say he’d been had. “I’m at your mercy. Tighten the knot around my neck and I’d be powerless to resist.”

Though Ardyn’s cheeks picked up a hint of color at the reference to his poem, he smiled, egalitarian now that the crisis was over. “I won’t let you take back those words.”

“And I don’t intend to,” Gilgamesh smiled back.


End file.
